


before the tide washes in

by miss_bennie



Category: Hex Hall Series - Rachel Hawkins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-10
Updated: 2011-07-10
Packaged: 2017-10-22 15:28:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/239534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_bennie/pseuds/miss_bennie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What really happened in the dungeon cell. (Spoilers through Demonglass.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	before the tide washes in

**Author's Note:**

> Rachel Hawkins said she was cool with fic on her twitter, so I AM GOING WITH IT. Canon Moments for Straight People come first, JUST WAIT FOR THE AUS. [Originally posted on LJ July 10, 2011.]

Their normal teenage dating scenarios are getting pretty out there, but it’s not until Archer mentions taking her to the drive-in that Sophie realizes he’s not only really out of touch, but apparently the Eye and their warlock foster care system let him watch as much Nick-at-Nite as he wanted.

“Never mind about watching too many movies, you watch too much period stuff. Have you ever even heard of something normal, like The OC?” The rock wall or whatever that’s behind her back is cold and hard with a thin film of condensation, Sophie biting back a shiver as Archer’s arm tightens around her, his breathy laugh ruffling her hair as it falls in a tangle over her eye. The light orb sputtered out a while ago, and Sophie’s eyes are still adjusting to the darkness.

“The OC is not normal, Mercer. I’m actually a little embarrassed for you, that that’s what _you_ think is normal.”

“Excuse you,” yeah, Sophie thinks, definitely too much TV, way to go The Eye, “if we’re speaking about childhoods, anyway, I didn’t have an entirely normal one either. Even on The OC they kind of stayed in one place for more than a couple months.”

“I know.” A pause, then softer, “I know you didn’t.” Sophie feels like she can’t speak for a moment, listening instead to the hum of the magical pulses surrounding them and suppressing their powers. Nothing better like a life or death situation to suddenly get whiny and introspective about her nomadic existence prior to Hex Hall. Oh well. She knows that Archer gets it, that he’s letting it go for a second so she can collect herself.

Not that he’s making it easy, with the rhythm he’s tapping out on her knee with his fingers. Sophie contemplates scooting away from him for a second, but then she almost wants to punch herself for thinking like an actual crazy person, swinging her legs into his lap instead. She’s surprised with how quickly Archer shifts underneath her, spreading out his legs a little and lifting her so she can fit right into this lap. Both of his arms wrap around her easier this way anyway, she rationalizes, and after everything that happened she’s really embarrassingly grateful that when she takes a deep breath with her face pressed against his chest he still smells so good, like...like _Archer_.

Sophie’s about to ask him if he found a random cologne ad or something in the dungeon waiting room and that’s why he smells so good when another question pops into her head (people really aren’t kidding about things flashing before your eyes in these types of deals), and it comes out of her mouth before she can help herself.

“Exactly how much,” Sophie tries to figure out the least lame way to say it, “ _intel_ did you have on me? Like, did they give you a folder? Did it self-destruct after you read it?”

“Intel,” Archer echoes, and Sophie can tell from the way his chin digs into the top of her head a little bit that he’s trying not to laugh, “and you told _me_ I watch too many movies?”

“I kind of asked you a question, Cross.” Sophie sits up and turns so she can face him, maneuvering her right leg so she’s almost straddling him, resting her weight back on his thighs. His hands lift up before landing on her hips, resting there and only distracting her a little bit. He’s biting back a grin. “And you kind of didn’t answer it.”

“If you recall,” Archer starts, “you told me about your childhood. Remember the cellar? Not a lot to do but talk?” Yeah, she thinks, and steal ancient magical artifacts. And make out, that one time...

“I know that,” Sophie says, shaking her head and refusing to look at his lips in order to preserve the integrity of her interrogation, “but answer my question.”

“Fine,” Sophie expects Archer to roll his eyes, but he looks serious for a moment instead. It’s a good look. “I was informed of the basic facts of your existence, but there wasn’t a folder. Or anything that self-destructed.” He clears his throat. “You did have a code name, rank, and serial number though.”

“Ha, a comedian.” She knows he’s telling the truth about the folder, and something like relief (as relieved as she can feel right about now) floods through her. “And what were those?”

“666,” Archer deadpans, “Lieutenant Demon. You Dad was...General Demon.”

“Clever,” Sophie rolls her eyes, fighting the giggle that’s trying to escape. “Wait, only lieutenant?”

“Don’t worry,” Archer’s grin is broad, and it’s the happiest she’s seen him since they were thrown in here, “you were promoted to Major Pain In My Ass soon enough.”

“Great, not only am I going to die, I’m going to die with a lame boyfriend.” Sophie watches Archer’s face carefully, noting how he only looks more delighted.

“Yeah, in this....room,” he finishes, glancing around them, “I’m the only lame one.”

“Uh-huh, like I said.” Sophie sways a little from her position on his legs; Archer’s fingertips are like pressure points on her hips now, pulling her closer, inch by inch. He’s laughing. “God, Cross, stop distracting me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Archer looks at her, his eyes wide even as his hands link behind her back. Sophie braces her hands against his chest, looking down. How did he _do_ that? When her eyes travel back upward, they notice the rip in his shirt, right next to her spread fingers.

“Hey,” Sophie toys with the edge of the fabric, and when her fingers graze the skin of Archer’s chest he makes a noise, this sharp intake of breath that makes her look up, his eyes locked on hers. It’s a struggle to break away and look back down. “How are you feeling? I feel bad that I didn’t ask.”

“Well,” Archer’s voice is low, but she can still hear the undercurrent of a laugh, “health wise, I feel pretty good. Cal saw to that. Which I should probably thank you for.”

“Mmmm,” Sophie ignores the stab of worry and a little bit of guilt that comes with the mention of Cal’s name. She hopes he’s okay. Pushing the shirt aside even more, she finds herself preoccupied again with Archer’s tattoo; when she finally reaches out to trace the intricate eye design, Archer’s chest jumps under her hand before his breathing evens out again. “Did it hurt? Or is there a like, tattoo spell?”

“Do you think witches and warlocks handle everything with magic?” Archer chuckles, low, before he unloops his arms from around her waist, his hands locking around her wrists and pulling her hands back from his chest. Sophie knows he can feel how crazy her pulse is right now at this particular moment, but she figures that hey, the situation calls for it. In every way.

“Besides,” he continues, almost muttering to himself as Sophie strains to hear him, “they didn’t like me using it much. Unless they needed it.”

“Oh.” They make quite a damaged pair, Sophie thinks, pausing to give Archer a moment like he did with her earlier. She watches his adam’s apple move up and down in the dim light, his fingers still pressing into her wrists when he takes a deep breath and speaks again, this time louder.

“I was 13,” he says, nodding down toward his chest, “it was part of a ritual. No magic, just a big guy with a needle. It’s...it was fine.” His eyes look distant for a moment, and her fingers flex, wanting to touch him again. “No, it actually hurt a lot and I was pretty scared. But there are,” he laughs, “worse things to deal with, right?”

“That’s a fair assessment,” Sophie agrees, Archer bringing his hands back so her palms are flat on his chest and she’s even closer to him than before. She takes advantage of his loosening grip, sliding her hand back up over his chest and planting a soft kiss on the underside of his jaw, speaking quiet against his neck, “I’m sorry they did that to you.”

“Yeah,” Archer’s voice is low again, “I don’t want to talk about them now.”

“Talk about who-” Sophie starts to quip before Archer’s lips are on hers, cutting her off and kissing her in such an intense way that she almost feels like her lips are burning. The skin of his chest feels like it goes from zero to fire under her hands almost immediately, even on the side where there’s the thin material of his shirt between him and her palm. She pulls back momentarily, moving her hands down and under his shirt. When she steals a glance up at Archer’s face his mouth is open and his eyes are half-lidded with sweat beading his brow. It’s a little too much.

“This is-” Sophie says, pulling at the hem of his shirt until he silently lifts up his arms, letting her do all the work to get the shirt off. “It was all gross and covered in blood anyway,” Sophie shrugs, trying to keep her voice steady when she presses her hand flat against Archer’s stomach, the muscles jumping there with the slight tickle of hair against her palm.

“You’ve got blood on your shirt as well,” Archer says, the rough edge of his voice betraying the casual raise of his eyebrows. Sophie’s stomach twists, for a lot of reasons. Most of those reasons being that she’s sitting on top of a half naked Archer, but in the back of her mind a little voice says, _his blood is on your shirt. you almost lost him along with everything else._ and she feels so overwhelmed she finds that she’s blinking like she has some sort of disorder, trying to keep the tears at bay.

“Hey,” Archer says, his thumbs sweeping under her eyes, gathering the tears before they can overflow, “it’s going to be okay. Somehow.”

Sophie nods, not allowing herself to speak.

“You can even keep your shirt on,” he continues, his voice turning conversational, “I’ll go over there-” he points to the far corner of their cell, so dark all she can see is blackness, “and you stay here, and we’ll just talk about how this all really sucks. That sound good?”

“Shut. Up.” Sophie groans, smiling to herself before pulling her shirt over her head, laughing at how Archer’s eyes widen before flicking down and then up again in some sort of gentlemanly struggle.

“Whatever you say, Mercer.” His breathing is ragged like that night in the barn, and Sophie has to fight to keep her cool. Just for a second.

“The way I figure it,” she says, closing her eyes briefly when Archer’s hands slide along her hips again, linking against the skin of her back, “we’re in this cell, alone, without any magic,”

“None,” Archer nods.

“Right. No magic, and I’m going to be dragged out of here at some point to most likely die in a scary ceremony, and you-” Sophie stops, her voice breaking. Damn, she was trying to be super cavalier about it.

“It’s not looking too good for either of us, at this moment.” Archer’s voice is gentle, but there’s still enough sarcasm lacing his words that Sophie relaxes against him.

“So. I think you get what I’m trying to say,” Sophie finishes, feeling like she should win multiple awards for seduction techniques. The We’re Probably Going to Die Seduction Oscars. Archer just nods his assent before kissing her again, and seriously. All the awards.

Things seem to go fast after that, their kissing tinged with a desperation that Sophie hates to admit really adds something to the proceedings. It seems like their hands are everywhere, and Sophie doesn’t even feel embarrassed when she can feel a trickle of sweat down the small of her back, Archer catching it with his fingers. (Okay, only a little embarrassed, _he touched my sweat! I should think that’s gross!_ ) She’s suddenly really grateful for the cool wall behind them when Archer encourages her with his hands to rock her hips against him, bracing her hands on the cold rock for a moment while Archer’s mouth works along the column of her neck.

His hair curls when it’s longer, she thinks to herself when she tangles her fingers through it. He must have hurt his head earlier, too - there’s a bit of dried blood at the back that her fingers comb through as she angles his head to kiss him a little deeper, his tongue moving against hers in a slow rhythm now that’s matching the pace he’s set of her hips. Sophie’s about to totally lose herself in the sensation of it all when she thinks, whoa, what about protection, all those uncomfortable mother-daughter conversations she had to endure growing up because she was never in a school long enough to make one of their sex-ed classes.

“Cross,” she gasps out against his neck, slowing herself for a second. “Is there a spell for...I mean, I don’t know if I’d trust anything I conjured up at this moment.”

“What?” Archer’s eyes are hazy and unfocused for a second, his chest rising and falling rapidly under her hands. “ _Oh_. I’m...you know, we’re okay just....like this.” He tightens his grip on her, causing Sophie to jolt forward in his lap, and they both groan. Yeah, she can feel just how okay he is. “You really know how to make things sexy, Mercer.”

“And I just remembered we don’t have any access to magic right now,” Sophie murmurs, feeling like an idiot.

“That,” Archer manages, his eyes going dark again as he pulls her closer, “is where I’ll disagree.” She leans forward at that, kissing his collarbone. She doesn’t mean to, but her teeth catch there a little and her weight shifts in his lap. The groan that elicits starts deep in his chest, rumbling up through his throat. She can feel it the whole way through him when he finally gasps out, “ _Sophie_ ,” in a low voice.

It’s when he calls her Sophie instead of Mercer that makes her realize just how much he thinks he won’t see her again. How much she believes it too, as much as she doesn’t want to. Also, come on, universe, she’s only human. Well, half-human. Close enough.

“Right,” Sophie says, feeling a sudden surge of confidence joining with the desire pooling in her stomach, “Caution. Wind.” Reaching down, she leans away so she can fumble with Archer’s belt, laughing when Archer makes a sound like he’s choking before batting her hands away and doing it himself. She can feel how his hands are shaking, fluttering between them like the rhythm of her heart. Even though it’s dark, she can tell that the floor is pretty gross, so she stops him from taking off any more than what’s necessary.

By the time he turns his attentions to her, his hands aren’t shaking anymore.

“Here,” he says once he’s done, reaching over and grabbing their shirts, spreading them out so her knees are protected as they fall on either side of his thighs.

“Thanks,” she whispers, feeling the slight scratch of his dried blood on both of their shirts, pressing against the skin of her bare knees.

“Okay?” he asks, thumb twitching against her neck. All Sophie can do is nod, knowing that they don’t know how much time they have, and _oh_. Archer’s kissing her again, everything faster and rushing through her head when his fingers find her. _Oh._

It’s quick, and for a second Sophie feels like all the air is sucked out of the room before she can breathe again, relax. When she does, everything expands around them and she feels...she almost feels like all of the pulsating magic around them is being poured back into her, into them. It’s weird. They’re not supposed to be able to access that, any of that.

It just feels so _real_. If she didn’t know any better, Sophie would suggest that they stop what they’re doing and try to use this electricity between them, this high frequency static and friction, to escape. But. One of Archer’s hands is tangled in her hair, the other helping her set the uneven pace of her hips, and it’s all the same as escaping anyway.

It feels like a new kind of thing she’s accessing, a rush that builds in a way that’s different from anything else she’s experienced or can compare it to in the weird, supernatural world she inhabits. Now that they’ve been in the dark for so long, their eyes have adjusted enough so when Archer’s gaze meets hers directly as they move she knows he’s really seeing her, punctuating everything with short kisses. The comforting slide of their tongues together matches up with everything else, and Sophie’s starting to feel overwhelmed by the spark of it all.

“Mercer.” Archer’s hips start to buck up erratically to meet her, and his kisses are getting sloppier, his eyes half closed. Sophie wants to look at him, though, even after he reaches between them and does something with his fingers that makes her grip his shoulders so hard he winces before gasping out a laugh. She puts her hand under his chin, feeling the scratch of his stubble there when she tilts his head up, looking in his eyes when it all ends.

It’s everything.

They don’t talk for what feels like hours, the sounds of their ragged breathing slowing down and filling up the small space all the way to the high cave ceiling. Sophie moves first, sitting back and fixing Archer’s jeans with trembling fingers, his arms at his sides with his hands resting lightly on her legs, only moving briefly to push her hair out of her face, his fingers trailing down her cheek. When she’s done he finally moves, sitting up fully and lifting her so she’s standing.

She watches the way the muscles in his arms move in the dimness, shining with sweat as he gathers up all her clothes before meeting her eyes and dressing her carefully, placing her hand on his shoulder for balance as he threads her legs through her underwear, her jeans. He sweeps the hair off of her back and over to the side so he can put her bra back on, pulls the t-shirt over her head gently, fixing the collar before placing his hands on her shoulders and kissing the top of her head, his lips lingering there for a second while she lets her forehead fall to press against his chest, eye level with his tattoo.

Archer finally moves them again, settling back down on the floor with Sophie beside him like they were at the beginning of all this. She fits in the crook of his arm under his shoulder, her hand resting on his stomach.

“You know,” Archer says, his voice still holding onto a little rough edge that sends a shiver through her, “in the world where we’re the stars of our school’s musical, I bet we’d do Grease. Which means, drive-ins. I believe this makes me totally in touch with a version of reality, loser.”

Sophie just starts laughing.  



End file.
